


A (Steady) Hand To Hold

by winehabit



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Panic Attacks, Protective Stiles, Reader-Insert, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:21:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5830582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winehabit/pseuds/winehabit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You find a body and (unsurprisingly) don't handle it well. Stiles to the rescue!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A (Steady) Hand To Hold

    In freshman year psychology you remember learning about muscle memory in the brain, specifically involving driving. You never were able to grasp the concept of driving and arriving at a location with absolutely no memory of the trip it took to get there.

Well, until now.

    You found yourself sitting in your car outside of a community pool club just outside of Beacon Hills. Other than the one or two times you'd been there as a child, the place held nothing of value and little to remember. The strangest part of the entire situation was that you couldn't even recall getting into your car to get there. Hell, you didn't even know you knew how to get there in the first place. You couldn't shake the feeling that there were other, darker elements in play here. Pulling your phone from your pocket with shaking hands, you rang the first contact in your 'recently dialed' list and breathed a sigh of relief when he picked up on the second ring.

"Stiles, I need you."

* * *

 

    The anxiousness and worry in his voice on the phone had done little to calm your own nerves. You'd told him how you didn't have a clue how you'd gotten there. He was partcularly tense when he heard you mention how _"one minute I'm working on Latin homework, the next I'm here and I'm pulling the keys from the ignition"._ You walked along the club as you waited for him to show up, kicking a small stone and trying hopelessly to remember anything about the ride that put you here. You felt the air around you go cold as the rock you were kicking skidded and stopped in a pool of dark liquid. Letting your gaze travel slowly upward before you let out a peircing shriek.

    Perched in the lifeguards chair was the bloody remains of a boy about your age. His injuries seemed terrifyingly recent and you couldn't stand to see any more. You clamped your eyes shut and stumbled backwards, straight into the warmth of someone's chest. Stile's hand flew to cover his mouth as he took in the grotesque scene. Your heartbeat pounding in your ears overpowered every other sound around and you were vaguely aware of hands holding your face and the distant hum of multiple voices talking. Your legs buckled and you sank down to your knees as you focused as hard as you could to focus in on the one voice in particular that seemed to be working to shout over the roar in your head.

"Y/N?! Y/N, listen to me. You have to breathe, okay?" The sterness of Stiles' voice made you painfully aware of how ragged your breathing was. You felt as though you couldn't pull enough air into your lungs, as if you were breathing through a straw. "Y/N you need to control your breathing or you're going to pass out." It was true, at the rate you were going, you'd be out cold in five minutes or less.

"I c-can't, St-tiles I c-can't-" You were trying desperately to heave air into your drowning lungs but the thought of the strangled boy blocked out any hope of regulating your  breathing. You felt moisture on your heated face and finally your eyes opened wide. The first thing you realized was that there were huge, messy tears making their way down your face. The next thing was that Stiles' face was only centimeters away from your own and his warm hands were on either side of your face. At some point you'd brought your own hands to rest over his in a tight hold. You managed to look past him where you could see the rest of the pack taking in the scene.

"C'mon, Y/N. Breathe with me sweetheart." You watched as he inhaled slowly and deeply through his nose, allowing himself to hold it for a moment or two before exhaling the same way. You worked to control your thundering heartbeat while moving through the breathing cycles with him. After completing four or five of the excersises, you rested your forehead against the warmth of his shoulder and took comfort in the feeling of his arms wrapping around you. A moment later, the warm pressure of his lips were at your temple and you felt his shakey exhale into your hair.

"That's my strong girl." He cooed softly. "I'm sorry you had to see that, princess." He punctuated the apology with another kiss, this time to your forehead.

"C-can we get out of here, please?" You were shocked by how frail and hoarse your voice sounded but Stiles didn't seem to care as he nodded.

"They seem to have some type of plan of action going on over there." He said in reference to the pack, who were in a sort of tense huddle ten feet away. "C'mon." A moment later he had stood and helped you unsteadily to your feet before leading you slowly back in the direction of your car.

    He talked for a solid percentage of the ride back to his house, but that was expected. He talked about everything from his favorite Star Wars character (Obi Wan Kenobi) to what he ate for breakfast that morning (s'mores poptarts). He talked because he knew that even if you weren't answering or contributing to the conversation, the rythmic, constant sound of talking was kind of soothing to you. He knew you well enough because a few moments later you were dosing off against the window, wondering how you ever got so lucky to have him.


End file.
